and then i knew (for you taught me)
by Sassassassin
Summary: "You don't have to," she interjected, her voice breathless, her pupils darkened by desire, "you don't have to say goodnight, not today." - sequel to undiluted and blind (this selfishness of mine). Podrick/sansa smut, but with feelings.


_**and then i knew (for you taught me)**_

* * *

To say that Sansa was _evading_ Podrick was an understatement; the Queen of the North had not spoken to him since that faithful night she had shared her body with the knight, refusing to even _glance_ at his direction.

The first day, she had been coy, sending flirty glances his way, and enjoying the way he would trip over his own two feet every time. Then, the realization of what she had done had seeped into her, but she could not rationalize any shame in what had transpired that night. Lastly, there was fear; she was terrified of the aftermath. How would their relationship go forth when she had let him see her at her most vulnerable state? How could she ever face him when all she could think of was the adoring look he had when he was gazing down into her eyes? Sansa truly felt unworthy of such devotion. She did not deserve him. He _loved_ her, and it terrified the _ever living-shit_ out of her.

_Gods, I'm turning into my sister_, she mused, thinking of Arya. Her sister must have been nearing the Stormlands by now, riding alongside her husband. The thought of Arya being wedded was absurd on its own, but to a _Lord_ of all things? Sansa could laugh forever at the sheer irony of it. But then again, there she was, the ever prim and proper Queen in the North, lusting -and perhaps something more, something she wasn't so ready to face yet- after a man below her stature, but a man she wanted so desperately.

Now, sitting in Winterfell's library, Sansa's musings made it hard for her to focus on her work. She had stayed up late, running over accounts of food available to last them until the end of a long winter. That and -if she were being completely honest with herself- ruminating over recent development relating to her _carnal_ desires. Her position often kept her up, usually in the company of her knight, whom refused to let her hunch over state matters on her own. He always offered to keep her company, under the guise that she may fall asleep on the pages, and smatter the ink, causing unprecedented losses to the Winterfell library. It had always made her laugh, the way he would grin when she would shake her head at him, before the conversation would cease, and they would finally bask in the comfortable silence.

That particular night, Sansa had been there alone. It had felt strange, lonely, and she found herself deeply missing his quiet presence near her. But all she had to blame was herself. She had pushed him away, making it perfectly clear that she did not want to see him. And Podrick -_sweet_ and _humble_ and _respectful_ Podrick- had not argued. It made Sansa feel terrible; Podrick had gracefully respected her distance, refusing to prod any further or to inquire about her strange behaviour. She used to call on him whenever she needed anything. He was her valiant servant after all, and on her sister's wedding night, he had been of _utmost_ servitude. Now, once again, his servitude had overwhelmingly exceeded all expectations, this time at the cost of her own frustrations.

When she had finally gotten tired of thinking, she had decided to leave the library, dreading a long sleepless night. She had walked down the dark corridors, recalling the way he had escorted her to her chambers, his clammy hand holding hers, his reassuring presence looming over her.

Sansa rounded the corner to her chambers, and bumped into the firm chest of the only person she both refused and desperately wanted to see; Podrick was only dressed in modest breeches and a shirt, a stark contrast to his usual attire, which consisted the armour gifted to him by his Queen the day of his knighting for his services. His hair was sticking out in strange places, and he was barefoot.

At the impact, he stammered out an apology, his arms reaching to steady her. When he looked up and recognised her, his eyes widened, and he immediately bowed low. "Ah-my apologies, your Grace. I had not recognised you."

Sansa did not reply, and merely looked down at her own feet, feeling her face heat up.

Podrick looked at her for a moment, and he disappointedly sighed and bowed again. He was always frustratingly _good_, and Sansa found herself getting irritated by his attitude. She wanted him to say something, to lash out at her. She had used him. She had used his attraction to her, which had turned out to be love, for her own selfish needs. She looked at him, and watched as he looked back at her, a intense look flashing through his eyes, and Sansa hoped for a moment that he would face her, force her to come to terms with what had happened between them, make her face the terrifying thought of her own feelings.

"I bid you goodnight," he finally said, ever complacent, disappointing her once again. He walked past her towards his own room, his arm brushing hers, and she could not stop the shiver racking her frame.

_I bid you goodnight, Sansa, _whispered a memory of that night, and she recalled the way his eyes had looked, and the feeling of his lips on the back of her hand, and then on her wrist. A seemingly innocent gesture that had awakened a flurry of feelings in her, giving her the push she needed to seek what she had always wanted from him.

"Podrick," she quickly called out, and he stopped, his back to her. "Wait."

He turned slowly, and she did not miss the way he clenched his jaw. "Yes, your Grace?"

"Why are you awake at this hour?" she asked, staring at his attire.

"I couldn't sleep, My Lady. I took a small walk around the castle," he shrugged.

"I see," she mumbled, before gathering all her courage and stammering out. "Why haven't you talked to me since-since that night?" she asked.

"Your Grace, I did not want to overstep," her replied, confused at her inquiry. "I would not prod where I was unwelcome."

Her gaze softened, and she went from feeling bad to feeling _awful_ for the way she had treated him. "It's Sansa," she whispered.

"I-I can't," he said, his breath short, and she felt the vulnerability in his tone. "That would be improper of me to do. You're my Queen, and it would be impudent of me to address you by any other name."

That was what he had said, but all Sansa could hear _was I am not worthy of using your name, I am not important enough to have that privilege_, and she wanted to run at him and tell him that _yes_, he _was_ important to her, she was just a fool out of her element who did not know the first thing about what she was feeling for him.

"I want you to call me by my name," she insisted, frustrated at him.

"Is that an order, my Queen?" he asked, a hint of playfulness in his tone.

"If that's what it takes for you to listen, then _yes_, it is an order," she argued, her tone resolute, crossing her arms in front of her in a defiant manner.

"Okay, Sansa," he whispered, giving up, a small smile tugging at his lips. She could see that he was fighting it, but he couldn't help finding the situation amusing.

"Okay," she repeated convincingly. She was not sure if she were trying to convince herself or to convince the knight standing in front of her.

They stood staring at each other for a moment, before Sansa looked down, finding her feet to be of quite interest. She felt foolish, a queen who cowered in front of her knight, the plight of her heart pulling her towards him, but her nerves compelling her to stand in place or flee to her room.

"So," he said, his eyes still on her, "can I be excused, My La-Sansa?"

"Yes," she whispered, disappointingly.

But he stood there, his eyes still watching her with an intensity that reminded her of the way he had stared down at her, his cock nestled deep within her folds. She was usually composed, confident, and exuded both respect and fear, the Red Wolf of Winterfell they called her, but in that moment, she looked and _felt_ small. She wanted something from him, and she didn't know whether to listen to those needs, or turn around and act like the proper Lady she was and go to her own bed, _alone_.

_What would mother say if she saw me now?_

"Is something the matter, Sansa?"

She nearly jumped, the timbre of his voice shaking her to the core. She had been so absorbed in her own thoughts. "What makes you think that something is wrong?"

"Well," he replied, "you're awfully silent, and you're still standing there. Your chambers are a few doors down the hall."

"I-I'm worried about state affairs, as usual," she mumbled out a response, the words sounding like an excuse even to her own ears. "I don't know if I'll be able to fall asleep now."

"Ah, state affairs," he mumbled, shaking his head. "Is there something I could do to help you sleep better? I could get a servant to draw you a warm bath if you'd like, My Lady."

"Sansa," she immediately corrected him, the voice in her head prompting her to shoot her shot at the young knight. "There's no need for that, Pod. I-well, the last time I had a good night's sleep was when we-I, you know," she mumbled, her face heating up.

"No, I don't know, _Sansa_," came his reply. "Why don't you enlighten me?"

He had a sly smile on his face, and was armed with more confidence than she had ever seen him wear. He was also much closer to her now. She realized that he had started slowly approaching her, and she forced herself not to flee in both fear and shame. What kind of Lady, what kind of _Queen_ came onto her valiant servant the way she had? She felt more like a courtesan than anything else, goading an innocent man into her bed. _Although that tongue of his was not so innocent_. she recalled, feeling her cunt tingle at the memory of his appendage pressed against her wetness, _it had been particularly sinful._

He was a now a mere foot away from her, staring down at her, and making her feel so much smaller than her rather tall frame. She was used to towering over most people, both men and women alike, and despite him being only a little taller, she had to admit that Podrick cut an impressive figure. She felt herself lean back, until she was pressed against the wall. In any other circumstances, she would have been terrified at being caged this way by a man, but she trusted him with her life, and knew that he would never do anything to her against her wishes.

"I want-I want to feel you again," she finally let out, her voice softer than a whisper.

"Sansa," he mumbled back, his arms hesitantly reaching forward, and he felt like the clumsy squire again, the same squire who blushed and stumbled through every word every time she was around. He had initially been reluctant to respond to her advances, determined to be as reserved as possible to respect her decision to be aloof. But then, he had seen the desire in her eyes, and he could not stand to be away any longer. He was longing for her, but he was not sure that his heart it could withstand having her body, but not her love. And yet, he could not resist her; she had his heart and soul in the palm of her hand, and it had been this way for so long. For that reason, he selfishly offered his body to her to use as she pleased despite the torment in his heart. Otherwise, he would not be able to live with the knowledge that he had refused her, and that there was another man somewhere in this castle who shared her bed and made her feel all those things _he_ could make her feel.

He let a hesitant hand softly trail down her arm, and Sansa felt goose-bumps breaking all over her skin. She felt hot, and the urge to rip out her dress and press her naked body against his nearly took over her good sense.

"Do you want that as well?" she asked, her tone dripping with want. It took all her might to keep looking at him when he looked back with just as much longing.

"It has been the only thing on my mind for a fortnight, Sansa," he replied, his voice husky and his eyes half-lidded. In a moment, he went from the clumsy boyish knight he was known to be, to the man she had lain with; the same man who made her insides flutter with desire so ardently that the need would reach her core.

The weren't sure who had reached for whom first, but the next moment, Sansa was on the tip of her toes, and he was leaning against the wall towards his red-headed beauty, their mouth latched to one another. Sansa's mind had not been able to be silenced for the last two weeks, but when his soft lips pressed against her mouth, and his tongue explored hers, her mind went blank, and she could only think of her knight. He pressed his body further into hers, caging her between his impressive arms, and placed his hands on her hips, hoisting her up and holding her against the wall. He was not wearing his armour this time, and she could feel every ridge of his muscled chest through her dress. She surprised herself with the thought that she wanted to completely undress him this time, and take her sweet time discovering the expanse of his skin the way he had done to her. She wanted to make him feel good, to find every scar and learn the raise of skin with her lips and tongue, the same scars he had gotten trying to protect her, to protect her castle and her family.

"Sansa," he whispered between kisses, before trailing his lips down the column of her throat. He nibbled at the sensitive skin, ghosts of past bruises awakening beneath the familiar feel of his lips.

Sansa sighed, the sound near wanton to her own ears, and let her hands explore his back, running beneath his thin shirt. It felt good, to be with him, and she did not know whether she could ever live without the feeling of his body against hers again.

They had been so absorbed in each other, that they nearly missed the sound of footsteps quickly approaching them. When they neared the corner, Sansa's eyes opened comically, jumping off Podrick and pushing him away from her to catch her breath. She saw the fleeting indignation in his eyes, before he too heard the steps.

"Your Grace!" exclaimed the voice, rounding the corner. Sansa recognised one of the guards of the castle. He stared suspiciously at Podrick, raising a brow at his attire. "I heard some noises near your chambers, I thought you were in danger."

"Ah, don't worry," she replied, trying to compose herself and still her frantic heart. "Ser Payne has been kind enough to escort me to my chambers. I believe I have prolonged my stay at the library tonight for far too long."

"Is there-"

"Do not fret," she interjected. "I will be on my way."

The guard bowed down, retreating to his nightly position, and Podrick accompanied Sansa to her room. They did not speak, for they had no idea what to say to each other after that demonstration against the walls of her castle. He merely watched as she entered her chambers, giving him one last look before shutting the door behind her. She heard him retreat, and sat back on her bed, sighing defeatedly.

"You foolish girl," she muttered, palming her furs, the same furs that had seen her enjoying carnal pleasures for the first time. They had also been witness to her tentative nightly explorations since that night Podrick had awoken those desires within her. _I want him, I want him ardently._ She would not spend another night without feeling his body against hers again, it had become a need she craved.

She took her decision, and quickly stood up before her nerves could win and compel her to retire to bed for the night. She walked towards her door, her dress fluttering behind her, and hastily whisked it open. She did not get far, for the subject of her desires stood before her, his eyes open with astonishment. It seemed that they had gotten the same idea, as he was determinedly staring at her.

"_Sansa_."

"Pod," she muttered back, her hands clutching her dress. "What are you doing here?"

"I-I forgot to say goodnight," he replied, his face redder than her locks, his resolve breaking. For a moment, he was back to being the lost puppy who wordlessly followed her everywhere.

"You don't have to," she interjected, her voice breathless, her pupils darkened by desire, "you don't have to say goodnight, not today."

His breath hitched, and he slowly walked inside the room, his steps measured. She followed him, walking back towards her bed, and he softly shut the door behind him, her gaze tethered to his. She felt like prey, from the way he was staring at her, a mix of lust and adoration in his gaze. She recalled the way Baelish used to stare at her in a similar manner when she had been but a young girl. But Podrick was reverent and had no ulterior motives; he was as open as a book, intent on worshipping her, and not on _using_ her.

_Aren't you the one using him?_

She shook the treacherous voice's whispers from her head, focusing on the man standing before her. She nearly fell back when the back on her knees hit the bed, but he reached out to steady her. It was a common theme, she realized; he was her anchor in so many ways, protecting her, grounding her, _loving_ her.

His arms reached around her back, searching for the laces holding her dress together, and tugged, slowly unlacing it. The Neckline fell open around her shoulders, and she shivered, humming in delight when he reached down and placed his lips on hers. She freed her arms from within the confines of her clothing, and the dress fell down to her feet. He held her as she stepped out of it. His hands reached for her chest, his thumbs running over the pebbled nubs in sync with the tongue caressing hers. She felt drunk on his touch, always seeking _more_.

She felt his hands leave her skin, and his mouth detach from hers. He reached for the hem of his shirt to remove it, but she immediately stopped him. "I want-I want to do it."

He smiled, nodding lightly, and she pulled the shirt up and over his head, watching as the expanse of his skin was revealed to her. When his shirt hit the floor, she immediately reached for his breeches and unlaced them, pushing them down his legs. She bent down to remove the cloth covering his nudity and found herself facing his hard member. He was incredibly well-endowed, and although he never did so to her knowledge, had every right to boast. She surprised herself thinking that she wanted to taste him, the same way he had claimed her with his mouth, and she reddened at the lecherous thought. Surely ladies did not do such things? The again, ladies don't take their knights to their beds, and let them _fuck_ them senseless into their furs. Not _once_, but _twice_ over at that.

_Perhaps even more after_, giddily whispered a voice inside of her.

It had bothered her before, that she would never know the loving touch of a man. Sure, she had imagined summoning Podrick to her chambers, tales of his magic cock reaching even her. But to think that she would come onto him as strongly as she had? Never in her life would she have envisioned such an absurdly out of character feat -and it was, a feat. It was a feat for her to trust a man enough to let him in, to let him map her body as he desired, to do things to her that would have abhorred her when she had been but a young squirt dreaming of marrying the perfect prince. Now that she had experienced all those things and had let those foreign feelings seep into her -just as she had let Podrick make his way _inside_ of her-, she did not know how she could ever let herself live another day without Podrick's embrace.

He may have not been a prince, but she would kneel for him like a _king_.

For that reason, there they were, about to perform a dance as old as time, under the eyes of the old gods. They could have been staring down at her all they wanted, peering lecherously at their intertwined forms, but all she cared about were his eyes looking at her in a way that made her feel like a goddess. She did not stop at the blasphemous thoughts running through her head, and let her breath fan over his hardening member, and she saw it imperceptibly bob along.

When he was finally bare, Podrick held her close to his body, his thick hardness pressed against her clothed womanhood, and she shuddered at the thought of them finally joining after two long weeks of longing for each other. His mouth pressed against hers once again, and he pushed her down onto the bed until she was seated at the edge, her faithful knight kneeling in front of her. His hand reached down, and he fiddled with her smallclothes. She lifted herself off the bed to give him a chance to slip them from underneath her, and soon enough, they were both as bare as the day they were born.

He kissed her again -she thought that she might be drunk on his lips, for she never wanted him to stop-, and sank to his knees at her feet, pushing her legs open. With her cunt at his disposal, he did not hesitate, and the sudden onslaught of his tongue on her wetness prompted a moan out of her so loud that she thought that the intensity of her pleasure might finally bring her end. She was dripping, and her cunt was throbbing with need, desperately seeking that desired release. He was humming into her skin, and the wild thought that he might be really enjoying this crossed her mind. He was intensely vested into the act, alternating between long stroked of his flattened tongue, and soft suckles on her most tender flesh. When he looked up from between her legs, she noticed the wetness around his mouth and chin, his lips pulled into a satisfied smirk, and she wanted to push his face down against her and order him to finish the task. She surprised herself by the erotic thought that she really wanted to taste herself on his mouth again, the act strange and yet deeply arousing. She reached for his hair, running her fingers against his scalp, and watched as his tongue darted out to lick the wetness off his lips.

"You're so wet, for _me_," he murmured possessively, the words reverberating against her sex. He sounded dumbfounded, like he couldn't believe that his actions made her want him.

"Pod," she breathed, her hands tangled in his hair. She pulled at his locks, and he _groaned_, the sound primal and animalistic. He immediately dipped back into her core, this time bringing a hand up and entering her with two fingers. She had been _dripping_, and they went in easily enough. If she had thought that feeling his mouth was incredible, his added fingers made her feel a whole other flurry of emotions. The feeling of his fingers moving against the soft flesh of her walls and his tongue gently suckling at her nub had her legs shaking violently around his head, and she couldn't hold herself up anymore. She fell back against her bed, looking up at the roof of her chambers. She felt out of her body, a stranger watching herself from above, moaning wantonly and thrashing against a pious man worshipping her on his knees. She must have been a sight with her wild crimson hair, a contrast to her white furs, and her naked body damp with sweat, her chest heaving with exertion. It was so unlike the _cold-bitch_ some may think her to be, or the emotionless Red Wolf they would call her, always serious and unfeeling, her words always heavily calculated. She was used to being in charge, especially after not having any control over her life for so long. But for once, she did not mind losing that control to her knight; he had earned her trust, and she would selfishly give herself to him any time.

She finally reached that threshold she was so desperately seeking, and she was being thrown off it blind, Podrick's tongue stroking her through the pleasure. It felt so intense that she had to push him away in fear of shattering like glass under his hold. But an arm circled her waist, holding her in place.

"_Gods, it's too much_," she sobbed, his name like a mantra in her mouth. She was tugging at his strands in an attempt to stop him. But he was relentless, the flat of his tongue running over her nub repeatedly, until she saw white, stars bursting behind her eyelids with a gasp.

When she finally came down from her high, Podrick's head was on her thighs, kissing the soft skin there. It felt intimate, having him lounging near her privates, his kisses so tender they brought tears to her eyes.

"Are you okay?" he asked, looking up at her. "You nearly went out cold there, Sansa."

"And who's at fault there?" she interjected, smiling at him. "Seven hells. You didn't do…_that_ last time."

His chest puffed with pride. "I think once was enough for you. I didn't want you passing out in my arms."

"And now?" she asked, her brow raised.

"I couldn't help it. I love making you scream my name," he replied, his voice huskier by the word.

She laughed, embarrassed by her shamelessness, wondering what those walking past her doors thought of her little display, and gods forbid if they were Jon. Podrick only kissed atop her sex one last time, eliciting a long-lasting shudder out of her, and leaned over her. She aimlessly reached out, and held his face in her hands, kissing him tenderly. She could taste her essence on his lips and tongue. Perhaps it was the sensual act of tasting herself, or having him down there for so long, but she surprised herself by thinking that the tang was not unpleasant – it was rather erotic.

"You took care of me," she mumbled against his lips. "Can I take care of you now? Would you let me?"

"You're my Queen," he hummed, his eyes closed. "I would let you do anything to me. You should know that I would lay down my life for you."

"i don't want you to lay your life down _for_ me, I want you to lay _with_ me. Besides, I don't want you to die, not yet. Your skills would go to waste, Pod."

He laughed, his breath fanning over her face, and she took it as an affirmative to proceed. She ran a hand down his chest, a smattering of thick hairs on the way to its destination. Her mouth left his, and she boldly ran her lips down his throat, tasting the salt on his skin. He shivered against her, a deep sigh escaping his lips. She couldn't understand why he liked tasting her so much, but now, tasting his skin, she realized it was because skin felt so alive, present, and warm. Her mouth met a pale raised scar near his collarbone that reached down to the middle of his chest, and her tongue darted out, running over the ridges.

"How did you get this?" she asked, her voice low.

"The Long Night," he replied, his voice dark. "A wight's knife grazed me."

She only hummed in response, shuddering at the thought of that horrible night, and the many lives they had lost. Sure, they had much more to feed the survivors after that, but at what cost?

Her hand met the dark coarse hair between his legs, and she let two fingers trail down towards his shaft, caressing the surprisingly soft skin. Her hand trailed lower, before she grasped his member. She stilled for a moment, watching the strain on his face, and bit her lips.

"Is this okay?" she asked, running her hand down his shaft.

"It's perfect," was his only reply.

He closed his eyes, leaning his forehead against hers, basking in the feel of he small soft hand on his hardness. He felt like a man about to burst, which, as a man who had experience and had been with so many women, sounded pathetic. But this was his Queen, the woman who owned his heart, whose only look his way made his heart beat frantically against the cage of his chest.

He put all his might into the little self-restrain he had now. The only thing he wanted to do was to throw her on her bed and ravage her, until the only thought in her mind was his name.

"Sansa," he whispered, a few moments later, putting her motion to a halt. "I won't last if you keep stroking me like this."

"Is that so bad?" she asked innocently, his big doe eyes staring at him.

"I can only go on so many times," he laughed, kissing the tip of her nose.

She reddened at the thought of him claiming her repeatedly through the night, and felt warmth gush out of her at the prospect of the endless pleasure he would provide her.

Podrick grabbed her hips, and she thought that he would finally claim her the way he had once before. But to her dismay, he only flipped them over, until she was seated atop him, his member resting against her slit. She looked at him, panicked, but he only smiled encouragingly.

"How about you take the lead this time, my Lady?" he inquired, his hands softly stroking her hips. She looked otherworldly, her blue eyes wide and filled with desire. Her hair was mussed and unkept-a rare occurrence for the usually prim Queen-, falling over her breasts like a curtain. He saw the newly formed bruises on her neck and between her thighs, and he surprised himself with the possessiveness he felt, knowing that _he_ was the one who marked her. He was the one privileged enough to have her and _see_ her this way.

"I-I don't know what to do," she whispered, placing her hands on his chest.

He laughed, and she reddened, embarrassed by her inexperience. She fidgeted atop of him, her slickness rubbing against his length. _You know exactly what to do,_ he thought, groaning out. He pulled her up by the hips to grab his member and placed it at her entrance. He looked at her, a brow raised, and she immediately understood. She slowly sank into him, prompted by his thumbs caressing her hips. She surprised herself again by thinking how easy it was for him to fit inside of her, unlike all those times Ramsay had forced himself on her. He had lain with her nearly every night, and the experience had not been any less painful the tenth time than it was the first time. With Podrick, he had her keening with want, her sex dripping so much that it sucked him up inside eagerly.

When he was completely sheathed inside of her, she looked at him questionably.

"Just move, anything you do, know that I will like it," he reassured her, the ever-obliging knight.

She acquiesced, pulling her hips forward, and the pleasure nearly had her collapse on top of him. This position had his member caressing her in the most delightful places, and her nub rubbed the skin atop his sex deliciously. He guided her with his hands, encouraging her.

_Just like that, you've got this, you feel so amazing, gods, Sansa…_

His words and the way he looked at her made her feel unstoppable, far beyond the Queen in the North she was. Soon enough, he had her riding him the way a knight would ride his horse into battle; with determination and nonetheless some abandon in her jerky movements, for the knight had a penultimate goal, and she was merely seeking to tug at the stars in the sky and see them behind her eyes.

When she had set a good rhythm, his hands left her hips, and reached for her mounds. He kneaded them, the rough skin of his palms -due to endless hours spent training with Ser Brienne- rubbing against her nipples.

He started meeting her thrusts, ramming up into her with abandon, and groaning her name softly. He looked beautiful, far from the young boy she had met all those years ago when she was a prisoner at King's Landing. He looked every bit the man he had become; dangerously desirable.

He came with a soft groan, his wet hair falling onto his eyes, and she reached over to push it off, wanting to see every bit of him as he reached his peak. A hand reached out to where they were most intimately joined and toyed with the nub nestled within her crimson curls. Sansa, already so sensitive from the first two times, peaked only after a few strategic strokes of his thumb. She finally fell atop of him, her frame quaking with pleasure, and her mouth kissing his chest gratefully. She never thought she would ever feel pleasure in bed like this before, let alone peak, which had previously seemed like a foreign concept to her. But three times? People may have thought that Podrick had a _magic cock_, but she thought that although that was true, his deft fingers and skilled tongue were even more exquisite.

They lain like that for a few moments, his member still inside of her, catching their breaths. She could feel his seed seeping out of her, and she thought about the moon tea she would have to drink in the morning. While it had been an affair of utmost importance with Ramsay, she did not feel the same urgency at the thought of bearing her knight's babes. The thought did not scare her, but brought her a certain peace she hadn't felt in a long time.

"You're wonderful," he finally muttered, kissing her temple.

"I should say the same about you," she retorted, wrapping her arms around him and placing her head at the crook of his neck. It did not last long. Podrick had flipped them over, his member hardening once again, and Sansa surprised herself by feeling the same need awakening within her. It seemed that no matter how many times she had him, it would never be enough.

Hours later, after he had made her his many times, he had finally drifted to sleep. Sansa lied awake, staring at the peaceful expression on his face and listening to his light breathing.

"I think I'm in love with you," she muttered to herself, finally cementing those confusing emotions bubbling in her for the last few years. It was an admission that she had feared all along, her budding feelings scaring her to the core. She somewhat hoped that he was still awake, and had heard her confession, for she did not know whether she would have the courage to utter those words out loud ever again.

But alas, her knight was asleep.


End file.
